 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
120
CANTO SIXTH.
THE BATTLE.
Fair was the dawn of that eventful day,
By conflict ever memorable made,
Between trained troops, who owned the Bourbon's sway,
And nature's dauntless children of the shade
Near Avon's pleasant site:—yon river strayed
Through a green, quiet landscape, and the light,
New-born and blushing, on the water played:
Naught token gave that scene so hushed and bright
Would soon ring far and wide, with the wild roar of fight.
By conflict ever memorable made,
Between trained troops, who owned the Bourbon's sway,
And nature's dauntless children of the shade
Near Avon's pleasant site:—yon river strayed
Through a green, quiet landscape, and the light,
New-born and blushing, on the water played:
Naught token gave that scene so hushed and bright
Would soon ring far and wide, with the wild roar of fight.
Alas! man's heart, like the sequestered vale,
Peaceful at morn, that rang ere noon with yell,
Loud gun-shot, charging cheer and dying wail,
Is often thrilling to its inmost cell
With happiness one hour before the bell
Of black misfortune tolls; while Hope in tears
Breathes, on the troubled air, her sad farewell,
And hollow Friendship closely stops his ears
To sorrow's moan, and Hate his viper-crest uprears.
Peaceful at morn, that rang ere noon with yell,
Loud gun-shot, charging cheer and dying wail,
Is often thrilling to its inmost cell
With happiness one hour before the bell
Of black misfortune tolls; while Hope in tears
Breathes, on the troubled air, her sad farewell,
And hollow Friendship closely stops his ears
To sorrow's moan, and Hate his viper-crest uprears.
I.
Hemmed in by trees of Titan height,In waveless rest, Autaugua lay,
While wavering gleams of rosy light
Announced the birth of day:
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The waters in their reedy bed,
Giving each cloud-fold, thin and gray,
A radiant wing to flee away.
Along the low and marshy edge,
His neck outstretched above the sedge,
Wandered the shy and lonely crane,
Lord of a sombre, wet domain:
From muddy den, with flag-leaf lined,
The musk-rat stole, repast to find;
Wild pigeons, early on the wing,
Woke overhead low thundering—
Blue, rearward columns mounting high,
Scared by the gray hawk's greedy cry.
II.
Ruins of former forests roundWere heaped in spongy, mouldering piles
On which the snake his coil unwound,
Or charmed the bird by fatal wiles:
Flapping of water-fowl, the plunge
Of leaping bass and mascalunge;
The blue kingfisher's eager scream,
Watching the wake of perch, or bream;
White swan, with oary feet afloat,
Raising a full, clear trumpet-note,
Were sounds in keeping with a view
As yet unchanged by axe and fire,
That wore, when earth was fresh and new,
The same dark, picturesque attire.
III.
Away, an arrow's flight, the pond,Like subject dutiful and fond,
The deep and rushing river gave
A turbid, tributary wave.
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On its dull sheet a darker hue,
Broad, level fields of tasseled corn
Lay lovely in the light of morn;
But horse and foot were on the march,
Beneath the greenwood's leafy arch,
To rudely break, in bannered pride,
The quiet of that prospect wide.
IV.
Gaunt red men, in light hunting shirts,Stained like the grass and leaves around them,
Crouched in the brambly forest-skirts,
As if a spell of witchcraft bound them.
The pheasant scratched, where sunshine warmed
A patch of forest earth, unharmed;
The marmot, near his burrow deep,
Played on the sward with clumsy leap;
Ungalled, by shaft from toughened bow,
Coursed on their runway buck and doe;
And, by Autaugua's reedy shores,
A brotherhood of beavers wise
Protruded, from their hovel-doors,
Brown furry heads with staring eyes.
V.
For other game those hunters trueWithheld the shot and loud halloo!
Abiding patiently the hour
When each might prove his skill and power;
While keeping watch for nobler prey,
All dumb and motionless were they,
Like figures carved from granite gray.
Time, when an Indian warrior lies
In ambush, unregarded flies:
Though morning lark and whippowil
Find him a voiceless watcher still,
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His black and ever-open orbs,
While the deep vortex of his soul
Alone one vengeful thought absorbs.
Though thirst oppress, and hunger gnaw,
Woe to the brave who quits his post!
The rigid doom of forest-law
Degrades him with the name of squaw,
And Heaven rejects his ghost.
VI.
While under cover, thick and green,Those hidden spies kept look-out keen,
Their foemen, with extended flank,
Were marching on the river-bank.
The morning star had seen them rise,
By bugle warned, their tents to strike,
And form, alert for high emprise,
With arquebuse and bristling pike:
Their trained battalions, ere the rays
Of rising sun dispelled the haze
That wrapped the woodland, leaf and limb,
In winding sheet obscure and dim,
Forded the rapid Hon-e-oye:
Dark allies hovered in advance
To guard the regulars of France
From Seneca decoy.
There his swart tribe the Saukie led,
Proud of the hawk-plumes on his head;
There stalked the Huron armed to slay,
And cross upon his bosom bore,
Taught by the Jesuit to pray
With hand imbrued in human gore;
“The French priests boast indeed of their converts, but they have made more proselytes to politics than religion.”
Smith's History of New York, p. 76.“To their former motives were now added, not only a thirst for revenge, but also an enthusiastic frenzy inspired-from the Romish religion. The French priests even went with the savages, as greater barbarians, to say mass amidst the holy work of massacre.”
Indian Wars.There was the Adirondack seen,
Like his own hills of iron mien;
Half-naked, fierce and wampum-decked,
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The fleet Ottawa glided there,
Drest in the spoils of wolf and bear.
VII.
It must have been a gallant show,When sunlight reached the valley low,
Made by those well-appointed troops:
Their glancing arms, half seen, half hid,
While moving, at quick time, amid
Tall trees in columned groups.
Borne in that host were banners old
By veterans “all seamed with scars,”
With conquest written on each fold,
And marked by shot of former wars:
Whose wings at Steenkirk, on the blast,
Had flapped when blood ran warm and fast;
Banners which haughtily had streamed
When Luxemburg in armor gleamed,
Leading, with trenchant sabre drawn,
The whirlwind of the battle on.
VIII.
Of proven valor was the chief,And worthy of the laurel leaf,
Who led that chivalrous array;
His steed, adorned with harness bright,
He managed like a youthful knight,
Although his head was gray.
Behind him pranced a mounted guard
Of men at arms, with visors barred—
Beneath him, in command alone,
Rode a tall warrior by his side;
And much of trouble had he known,
Unless soured look, and cheerless tone,
The heart within belied.
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Fell his bruised morion below,
But wintry age had left untamed
An eye, at times, that fiercely flamed;
And though his leader on parade
Would nobler chevalier have made,
Still his broad chest and martial front,
Bronzed o'er by toil, and weather-stain,
Told plainly that it was his wont
To bide the roaring onset's brunt
Upon the battle-plain.
IX.
“Twice, Baron, has the tedious nightBeen reddened by our watch-fires bright;
Twice has the morning sunbeam found
Our force afoot on hostile ground,
And nothing in the shape of foe
Has brandished axe, or bended bow”—
Murmured De Nonville, in disdain,
Stroking his courser's flowing mane.
“The rich, green forests of a land,
So beautiful on every hand,
Diversified by upland-swell,
Bright-leaping rill, and flowery dell;
Another race, methought, possessed
Than these dark Senecas, misnamed
The tawny Romans of the west!”—
The stern, old warrior exclaimed.
X.
“Curse that false Jesuit”—rejoinedThe fiery Marquis—“who has coined
A lying tale for knightly ears,
Of On-gui-hon-wi pride and power!
Their hunting-grounds a Frank might scour,
And find no foe in wood or bower,
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With one good plump of spears.”
“I marvel what detains De Lisle,
That man half-soldier, and half-priest!
He comes not, and the sun, meanwhile,
Looks from his watch-tower in the east.
My orders were, ere break of day,
That back he should retrace his way,
And at head-quarters make report
Of trail the most direct, whereby
Our vanguard might surprise a Fort
The Big-Bend of yon river nigh.
XI.
“Attended, or alone to scoutForth went he in our line of route?”
“Through fear of ambuscade at hand,
With him he took, by my command,
The crafty Black Fox and his band”—
Answered the Baron, while a cloud
Darkened the brow it overspread
In furrows by affliction ploughed,
And with a stifled groan he bowed,
In agonizing thought, his head.
Ah! wildly were his heart-strings torn!
Hope had he cherished on that morn
To look upon the lost restored—
His fair-haired Blanche, the long-deplored!
Last scion of an honored race,
And once more in her features trace
A transcript of that mother's face,
Who died in giving birth to her,
Whose dwelling was the sepulchre.
XII.
Promise the Jesuit had made,With hand on cross devoutly laid,
127
Ere morning dried night's dewy urn:
That hour was passed:—why tarried he?
Naught save low breeze, and rustling tree,
Dull, measured tramp of column long,
Loud oath, rude jest, and losel song,
Clangor of mail, and sabre's ring
Replied to his self-questioning.
XIII.
When the long line, from forest gray,Debouched in glittering array,
And, with a lighter movement, trod
Green floors of fresh, unshadowed sod,
Stretching away to groves unhewn
Autaugua round, that dark lagoon!
Well might their general declare,
Eye never looked on vale more fair.
The valley of the Genesee, though romantic and wild at, and around the Upper Falls, is more remarkable for the quiet beauty of its landscape than for startling sublimity. “The alluvial flats through which the river meanders, are from one to two miles in width, as level as a placid lake, and as fertile, to say the least, as any land in this state. Thousands of acres of these flats were cleared of their timber when Indian tradition commences their description. These flats are encompassed on each side by a rolling country gradually rising as it recedes from the river, but in no place so abrupt as to merit the cognomen of a hill. This was the terrestrial paradise of the Senecas, and to this tract they gave the name of Gen-ish-a-u, Chen-ne-se-co, Gen-ne-se-o, or Gen-ne-see, as pronounced by the different Indian tribes, and being interpreted, all meaning substantially the same, to wit: shining, clear opening—pleasant, clear opening—clear valley, or pleasant open valley.”
Wind wafted fragrance, and his steed
Sank, fetlock-deep, in beds of flowers;
Brooks wimpled by, in playful speed,
And ancient pines beyond the mead,
Reared their dark, emerald towers.
XIV.
“By Jesuit though falsely told,Broad valley! that thy sons were bold,
A truth was uttered when he said
Thy breast an Eden lay outspread—
That spoken word would ill express
Thy pure, primeval loveliness!
Here, should the lilies o'er the brave
Float while yon river rolls a wave—
Here, knees in homage should be bent
To Louis, the magnificent!
In spite of armies hither led,
Bearing aloft the Cross of Red,
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The Five Leagued Nations at their back!”
Thus, curbing in his war-horse fleet,
While his heroic soul was tuned
To rapture by that vision sweet,
De Nonville with himself communed.
XV.
In forest warfare better taught,A shaded trail his allies sought,
Where twilight held unquestioned reign,
Avoiding flat, and open plain.
Limber in motion as the snake,
Oft would some scout thick top of tree
His screened observatory make,
“Their grand object, however, is to surprise a village, and if possible, the principal one belonging to the hated tribe. Thither all their steps tend, as they steal like silent ghosts through the lonely forest. On approaching it, they cast hasty glances from the tops of trees, or hillocks, and then retreat into the thickest covert.”
Murray.And look forth, long and patiently.
No object round was too minute
For their keen, critical survey;
Their organs, practiced and acute,
Marked grassy blade and waving spray;
Each starry moss-tuft on the stone,
Each leaf about by air-gust blown.
Cautious their progress was, and slow,
Hunting for sign of hidden foe;
Heeding the squirrel's frolic bark,
The wood-worm's tick, in crevice dark,
Or close to earth applying ear,
Better some far-off sound to hear.
XVI.
Southward the gleaming ranks moved onAcross a flower-enameled lawn,
Their weapons flashing in the light;
Dark Genesee upon their right;
Gliding along, with even flow,
To join the blue Ontario.
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Upon the left, a ridge of hills,
In waving groves of oak embowered,
And musical with birds and rills.
At times the soldier looked around,
Thinking he trod on pasture-ground,
Or clearing by the woodman made
Within a fresh, young land of shade:
No cottage-home met his regard,
Nor blackened stump, nor log-heap charred;
There, never had the scythe been swung—
There, sharpened axe had never rung,
Sleek heifer lowed, nor milk-maid sung!
A place of bloom and smiles it lay,
Nature's free gift to golden day.
XVII.
Facing the west each cohort wheeledWhen near the borders of the pond,
While a dark wall of wood concealed
All objects that might lie beyond;
Before them, in the sunshine's blaze,
Basked flaunting rows of glossy maize,
Bearing, upon their emerald spears,
A heavy load of infant ears;
While podded bean, and melon-vine,
Sated with draughts of dewy wine,
Clothed in gay garniture the mould;
But wasting War turned not aside,
And through that rich plantation rolled
His stern and desolating tide—
Germs of abundance blotting out,
And blasting greenness in his route.
XVIII.
When a dark, hollow way was gained,Bed of a stream for ages drained,
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Made momentary halt to scan,
On an elm-trunk, of bark bereft,
The pictured outlines of a man
Transfixed by dart, by hatchet cleft.
By a few rude images on the bark of trees, they communicate to others whatsoever intelligence they deem important. “There are some Indian Gazettes. On a tree in Moultonboro' is carved a history of one of their expeditions. The number of the killed and captivated were represented by so many human figures. The stroke of a knife across the throat designated the killed. Even the sexes had some intelligible mark of distinction.
“They use many ingenious expedients to communicate their ideas to their absent friends. By erecting a pole and marking its shadow on the sand, or pointing it so as to cast no shadow, they are able to inform their followers, of what time of the day they were in such a place, and by lopping down a few bushes they clearly intimate which way they are gone.”
“In Kellyvale, is yet to be seen something like an attempt at painting. The bark of a large tree is stripped off as high as a man can reach; with a stain of a lively color, an Indian with a gun is painted, with his face towards the north. Beside him, is a skeleton sketched with a considerable degree of anatomical exactness. The whole is a kind of gazette, in which the Indian informs his company which was to follow him, that one of their number was dead, and that the survivor was proceeding with safety on his way to Canada.”
Indian Wars.“Ho! Lamberville!” the Marquis cried,
Accosting an experienced guide—
“The meaning of this daub explain,
For new and fresh appears the stain!”
XIX.
“Yon sketch conveys monition sternThat blood will flow, and powder burn,
Unless our trumpets sound return;—
Is warning to invader given,
That never will the native fierce
From his old hunting-ground be driven,
While arm can strike, and weapon pierce!
His tribe have laid a deadly snare,
And near us lie in bushy lair;
The red confederates of France,
That lately hovered in advance,
Are gliding swiftly back, in fear,
To gain a cover in our rear:
My counsel, governor, would be
From thicket-edge to keep away,
And, westward, near the Genesee,
Our line of march at once to lay!”
XX.
“The Senecas, by arts like these,Blood in a Huron's heart may freeze;
But warrior who has braved the fight
On fields where knight encountered knight,
Would ill his belt and spurs deserve,
One inch in his career to swerve,
Though every tree, in forest blind,
A savage hid its trunk behind.”
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XXI.
The headmost of the line at lastAutaugua's narrow outlet passed;
But while they forced, in disarray,
Through hazel underbrush their way,
From earth grim, crouching figures rose,
Like mountain-cats prepared to spring,
Counting the number of their foes,
With shafts notched lightly on the string;
They cowered for one brief moment there,
But, ere the next flew swiftly by,
Rang out upon the throbbing air,
Their wild and startling battle-cry:
Bard hath no power to picture well
The might of that demoniac yell;
Back, back recoiled the valiant then,
And felt the frozen hand of fear
Knock at their hearts, as if a den,
By lions watched, lay yawning near!
Then whirling swiftly round and round,
While a winged storm of arrows flew,
A pathway red the hatchet found,
Barred morion and hauberk through.
XXII.
Distinguished by his snow-white crest,De Nonville, calm and self-possest,
Gave, amid uproar wild and high,
Command with martial brevity:
His presence discipline restored,
He formed the broken ranks again—
Flashed, in the staggering van, his sword,
While reared his horse by missile gored,
And men at arms were round him slain.
“Dismount, dismount, Le Troye! and break
Their cover with my Rangers through;
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In answer to this yelping crew!”
XXIII.
From his war-saddle to the ground,Leaped the gray veteran with a bound,
While rattled sharply on his mail,
Rough, flinty arrow-heads like hail,
And forward, with elastic tread,
Promptly the charging party led.
Bold was the rush, and sternly met
By natives never daunted yet;
Loudly mad whoop and rifle-crack
By forest-arch were echoed back:
The ponderous war-club's weighty stroke,
Clubbed gun-stocks into pieces broke,
Their weapons of war are very few. Their war-club was formed out of a root, or limb of a tree, made into a convenient shape, with a knot at one end, of use in case of close engagement with an enemy. A stake hardened in the fire at one end, was used as a sort of spontoon, useful in destroying an enemy, or keeping him at a little distance. Their lance was pointed with a flint or a bone. A war-club was sometimes used, with a blade like the spear of a lance inserted in the side near the upper end of it. Col. Stone, in his life of Brant, alludes to one with marks on its handle denoting the number of persons killed, and scalps taken by the means of it.
And, blunted in its swift career,
On breast-plate rang the point of spear,
Frank, and the son of hunter-race,
Breast to breast, and face to face,
Grappled in desperate embrace;
And fast the dinted forest-floor
Grew red and slippery with gore.
XXIV.
Awhile the Senecas maintained,Combating hand to hand, their ground;
Then a reluctant flight they feigned
On a dim trail that southward wound.
Darting about, from tree to tree,
With panther-like agility,
Well-aimed discharges of their bows
Annoyed their hot pursuing foes,
Whose rapid volleys, in return,
Wounded alone the brush and fern.
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XXV.
Soon did the scene of conflict changeFrom open-wood to deeper shade,
Where, piled up in confusion strange,
Lay mouldering elm and oak decayed;
At once the hoary knight foresaw
That a dark plot had been designed,
By wily enemies, to draw
His corps into ambushment blind,
Where craft, not valor, would avail,
And fire-lock prove protection frail.
“Halt! my brave comrades, one and all;
De Nonville's bugle's sound recall!”
Shouted the Baron out, in vain:
Like blood-hounds who had tasted gore,
And bayed upon the track for more,
His men dashed on amain.
XXVI.
Obstructions thickened in their way,And momently the light of day,
As they advanced, grew less and less,
Within that hideous wilderness:
Their progress difficult and slow
Was often made by quagmire low,
That weight of frog could scarcely bear,
Dotted with grass-tufts, coarse and spare:—
Unstirr'd by breeze, an awning spread,
Dismal and shaggy overhead,
That woven seemed in midnight's loom;
But floundered on the Rangers rash,
Vexed and bewildered, while the flash
Of ringing rifles lit the gloom.
XXVII.
Fruitless their toil!—unharmed by lead,Their taunting foes before them fled;
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Through many a rough and war-worn frame,
When gaunt, retiring forms at last,
Brown shadows closing round them fast,
Confused and indistinct became.
Tumultuous sounds of flight and chase
Ceased for a time in thicket wild,
As if the Spirit of the place
Awed fiery Frank and forest-child.
XXVIII.
When paused his party breath to takeAfter long chase through brush and brake,
Fatigue and wounds the bitter fruit
Of mad, disorderly pursuit,—
Le Troye another trial made
To lead them back to open glade,
And felt, in labyrinthine shade,
Like mariner, his compass lost,
On unknown sea befogged and tost,
Far from safe port and friendly shore;
While evil bark that lured him thither,
Gliding away he knew not whither,
Displayed black flag no more.
XXIX.
No well-worn wood-path was in sightTo guide his soldiery aright;
And sharply he rebuked his band
Who followed up a wily foe,
In disregard of loud command
No farther in advance to go.
“As well might hunter try to bring
Falcon at bay upon the wing,
As Christian troops, in forest haunt,
Wage warfare with the savage gaunt!”
He muttered, looking round to find
Outlet from swamp obscure and blind.
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XXX.
Caparisoned, from head to heel,In corslet, greaves, and cap of steel—
Encumbered by a gorgeous dress
That ill beseemed a wilderness,
Struggled the party to retrace
Their way from that benighted place
Chilled by the grove's eternal frown:
Their feet, encased in heavy boots,
Stumbled among ensnaring roots,
Or in the bog plunged down:
At random thus they fared, until
They reached a lazy, winding rill,
Near its dull junction with a pool
Whose dark expanse lay hushed and cool,
When suddenly, with bended bows,
A cloud of savages arose,
Attacking them in rear and front,
Howling like wood-wolves when they hunt
Through wintry wastes,—a grizzly gang,
Bitten by hunger's pointed fang.
XXXI.
A hurtling stream of feathered dartsRiddled fair forms and gallant hearts;
Well might the boldest feel dismay!
Swept were the leading files away
Like the round prairie's herbage dry
Before a flame when winds are high.
By menace and entreating word,
Above the roar of battle heard,
Rallied the knight his flying troops,
Broken in panic-stricken groups.
Though blanched his hair, from casque escaped,
And thinn'd by Time's unsparing shears,
His frame, for martial prowess shaped,
Retained the might of other years;
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In that dread crisis of alarm,
A knightly scorn of fear revealed
Worthy of Bayard when he met,
By overwhelming odds beset,
Death on his last red field.
XXXII.
He charged, to break the hostile ringHis serried ranks encompassing,
Thrice, with a cheer, in vain;
Five hundred bows the shaft propelled,
Five hundred throats the war-cry yelled,
And, one by one, the knight beheld
His ill-starred Rangers slain.
XXXIII.
Warned by a runner of his bandThat Yonnondio was at hand,
“Their orator came forward and addressed the Governor General by the title of Ononthio (or Yonnondio,) which in their language, signifies great mountain; and though it was in reference to his name of Montmagny, they continued ever after to apply this term to the French viceroy. They often added the respectful appellation of father.”
Murray's British America, vol. i. p. 166.Speeding with Indian guides, to aid
His brethren trapped in ambuscade,
Old Can-ne-hoot, by loud halloo,
A knot of braves around him drew,
Resolved that tomahawk and knife
Should end at once the desperate strife;
Prompt the dread movement to discern,
Exclaimed the Knight, in accent stern—
“My lads, prepare their rush to meet,
And, mark ye, there is no retreat!
Throw not an ounce of lead away—
God and St. Dennis be our stay!”
XXXIV.
There was a momentary hush;Then, giving cry like unleashed hounds,
Dashed forward, with impetuous rush,
Wild warriors clearing brake and bush,
In quick, elastic bounds:
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Poured forth a crimson sheet of flame,
Ringing, in one explosion loud,
The knell of many a warrior proud;
But staunch survivors faltered not,
While round them hissed the raking shot,
Old Can-ne-hoot, their forest-king,
Through sulphurous vapor following.
XXXV.
As avalanche, from mountain-headDescending with resistless force,
Upwrenches from primeval bed
Huge blocks of granite in its course;
As freshet, swollen in its flow
By heavy rain, dissolving snow,
Against a bridge of massive arch,
Too frail for its restrainless march,
Dashing in thunder and in spray,
Timber and buttress tears away;—
Thus back that Indian onslaught bore
Crushed phalanx that could form no more.
Followed a diabolic yell
When foeman, brained by hatchet, fell;
Though the poor, mangled wretch yet breathed,
Dark fingers, in his hair enwreathed,
Secured, by aid of teeth and knife,
Grim, reddened trophies of the strife.
Placing a foot on the neck of his fallen enemy, and twisting a hand in the hair, the warrior draws a long, sharp-pointed knife, specially formed for this operation; then cutting a circle around the crown of the head, by a few skilful scoops, sometimes aided by the teeth, the hair and skin are detached. See Charlevoix, Rogers' Concise Account and Adair.
XXXVI.
A gallant remnant of the Franks,Though shattered and o'erthrown their ranks,
Fought, fearfully outnumbered, on,
And buffet dealt with arms of brawn
Encircled by a howling crew;
His armor hacked, with blood-drops wet,
A leader's voice and presence yet
Cheered that devoted few.
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Recoil like spent and broken waves
Encountered by an iron strand,
Old Can-ne-hoot, his scalp-lock white
Dancing in air, upon the knight
Rushed, tomahawk in hand.
XXXVII.
Though partly parried was the blow,Its force unhelmed his stalwart foe,
Whose eye flashed lightning, while his blade
Wounded with every pass it made.
Equal in years—in height the same,
Both known by martial deed to fame,
Fought, with youth's ardor uncontroll'd,
Stroke answering stroke—those warriors old.
Unblenching, though in copious tide
Oozed the dark gore from gashes wide,
The Sachem, naked to the waist,
His mail-sheathed adversary faced.
XXXVIII.
His glance more deadly and malignGrew while he felt his strength decline—
More proud a spirit in which burned
Impulse that fear and mercy spurned
Regardless of unequal fight,
His long leg-knife he drew,
When the sharp weapon of the knight
Descending, clove the handle light
Of his war-axe in two.
Not fleeter pouncing eagle flies
To rob the fish-hawk of his prize;
Shark, scenting a repast of blood,
Not swifter hurries through the flood,
Than, dodging death-blow, by the wrist
Seized he his dread antagonist,
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Against the maddened Indian's breast:
A bright flash heralded the ball—
One moment stood, erect and tall,
Old Can-ne-hoot—the next, he fell,
His frowning brow still terrible;
Low was a mighty Sachem brought—
His last fight had a brave man fought!
XXXIX.
Have ye not seen, on Western plain,When leader, shagg'd and old, is slain,
With angry roaring on their foes,
Gallop a herd of buffaloes;
Huge forms in front, unstaid by fear,
Pushed onward by the frantic rear;
Their eyes, while horns tossed high in air,
Glowing like coals through matted hair?
Impelled by wrath more frightful far,
Waking the wildest howl of war—
To higher pitch of frenzy fired,
When, grasping knife, their Chief expired,
Avenging sons of forest brown,
To earth, in one dread rush, bore down
Their foemen few and tired.
XL.
De Nonville, from a fearful doom,Too late arrived his van to save;
Strewed was a place of blood and gloom
With shattered gun and tarnished plume,
Cleft helm and broken glaive.
The native raised retreat-halloo!
When, sounding charge, his bugle blew—
Just finished their employment dread
Of scalping the disfigured dead.
140
Give paleness to his troubled mien!
Where were his gallant rifle-corps
Who mustered, full of life, at morn?
High would their pulses beat no more
When banner waved and blade was drawn!
All—all had died save leader gray,
A pinioned captive borne away,
Reserved for torture at the stake
By tribesmen, filled with rage and grief,
That glad the wandering ghost would make
Of Can-ne-hoot, their fallen chief.
In the dreadful work of torture the women take the lead, and seem transformed into raging furies. She, to glut whose vengeance the doom has been specially pronounced, invokes the spirit of her husband, her brother, or her son, who has fallen in battle, or died amid torture, bidding him come now and be appeased.
XLI.
Galled by the sting of wounded pride—By dark disaster mortified,
The baffled Marquis offered gold
For Iroquois scalps in vain;
Cowed were his allies to behold,
Their couch the swamp's defiling mould,
Hacked forms of Frenchmen slain:—
Boughs bending o'er them, sad of hue,
As if old elms around that grew,
Dropped down a melancholy pall,
And mourned, though mute, their timeless fall.
END OF CANTO SIXTH.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |